


Absolution

by Trainscribbler



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy, also would anyone want to see art of these two?, because this is supernatural and you can't have nice things, drop me a comment or something if yes and I can insert links, fic is set around the season 5 mark, it's common courtesy to give a head's up, mention of rape incoming later so watch out, nothing majorly graphic but you know, oh wow first fic on AO3 and I am already becoming a tag waffler, pre-demon cure etc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-03 00:57:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5270591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trainscribbler/pseuds/Trainscribbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A demon comes to the Winchesters pleading for sanctuary. On the run from Crowley and with a limited amount of time due to a very particular kind of deal she bartered with him, the hunters' resident angel isn't so sure having a succubus in the basement is such a good idea. But then a lot can happen when all you have is time to talk and think...</p><p>(I suck at summaries, give it a whirl, don't give it a whirl, it's all gravy!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sanctuary

It was raining the first time the succubus laid eyes on the Singer house. Not heavily, but instead that fine, mist like rain that smattered skin in a chill blanket and somehow seemed to soak clothes through to the bone, leaving them heavy and cloying, despite possessing no real gravity of its own. A human might shiver and seek to draw their collar closer to shield their neck, but the demon did not. Instead, she simply stood in the shadows of the gate which heralded the vehicle scrapyard beyond, hands hung limply at her side, raven strands of hair clinging to the skin of her pale face, and stared.

The building did not look inviting. Ramshackle, held together by patchwork DIY and sheer willpower, murky windows at the front let a little yellow light filter through, the occasional shadow of movement flickering behind them. It was an old building, with a gnarled character all of its own, breathing and shifting and snarling in the dark of the night. But for all its foreboding, it was her only chance for salvation.

Steeling herself, the demon took a step forwards, then another, her boots moving on auto-pilot. She stepped up onto the porch, pausing for a stretched second before she reached out a lily-white hand and knocked twice.

There was no immediate answer. Long, anxiety-laden moments slipped by, the demon swaying slightly through the balls of her feet, before finally there was the sound of several locks being pulled back and the door opened a couple of inches, allowing the warm light from beyond to filter through the crack and cast a strip of gold across the woman’s frightened face.

It was Sam who had answered. He peered out of the gap, hazel eyes widened slightly as he saw the small, bedraggled figure that was loitering outside. Considering for a moment, he reached out one hand to his left, fingers alighting on the shotgun that was kept propped by the door loaded with salt shells, though he didn’t pick it up yet. His other hand moved to the latch on the final security chain, but that remained still for the time being too as he breathed in tentative tones,

“Uh… hey...?”

His monosyllabic greeting seemed to finally spur the woman on the doorstep to _do_ something, arms swathed in drenched red flannel moving to hug herself as she replied in an equally wary voice,

“Winchester..?”

The gun was lifted. Still concealed behind the door but firmly in Sam’s grasp. His brow furrowed and he heard a slight shift in movement from the kitchen doorway, announcing Dean’s interest had been piqued, his older brother having moved to hover against the frame and watch.

“Who’s asking?” the younger hunter asked, his gaze critical on the stranger. She didn’t look much of anything; a slender, petite thing that could only reach five feet on a good day, sodden and pitiful looking. But Sam had been in the game long enough to know that looks were deceptive.

“My name is Serendipity…” came the response from the drenched figure, a noticeable quiver in her voice as she spoke. “And I need your help…” A fraction of a second later her doe-eyes slicked over into lightless, black pools and in one sweeping motion Sam cocked the gun, undid the chain and had the barrel pointed directly at her face. In that same heartbeat Dean was drawing up beside his brother, jaw taut as his olive gaze fell on the demon, the little woman raising her hands in a motion of surrender, her voice cracking as she practically whimpered,

“Wait! Please, wait! It’s not what you think! I’m here because of Crowley!”

 

* * *

 

An hour later the demon and three very uncomfortable looking hunters were gathered in Bobby’s den, the room blanketed with a heavy silence. The woman was perched on a backless stool that had been dragged through, feet dangling several inches above the floor, thin trails of steam rising from her clothes as she gradually dried out. Beneath her there was a sketchy devil’s trap scrawled in white chalk on the floorboards, locking her down into that one spot. Bobby himself was stood in the doorway, sawn-off loaded with rock salt shells perched over the crook of his arm in a wordless threat. Sam and Dean meanwhile were sat in chairs drawn up close to the trap, the younger Winchester straight backed and hands linked loosely in his lap, while his brother was roosted forwards as far as he could on his seat, forearms resting on his thighs, both their gazes intent on their visitor.

“That’s bull,” Dean announced sharply out of nowhere, the first thing that had been said in over a minute after the demon had finished recounting her tale that had brought her to their door.

“Dean…” Sam breathed, his low voice carrying a very slight hint of warning about it.

“What?” his brother replied, shooting him a look, eyebrows pinched in annoyance.

“What if she’s telling the truth?”

“She’s a demon, she wouldn’t know truth if it bit her in the ass!”

“But it didn’t make sense, why just hand herself over to us if she doesn’t mean what she’s saying?”

“Sammy, seriously, you need to open your eyes-“

While the Winchesters descended into bickering Serendipity sat in stoic silence and watched, her fingers roped together in her lap, occasionally curling and uncurling around themselves. She hadn’t expected this to be easy, but all things considered, it was actually going well. She’d been allowed inside, (under gun point, but still), allowed to talk, they hadn’t thrown holy water on her once… Knowing the hunters’ reputation she was honestly surprised that the whole affair was going so smoothly…

After a while her gaze slid to Bobby, the older man meeting her eyes levelly, lips pressed together in a thin line. So far he hadn’t had a great deal of opinion to offer on the matter, but the demon was certain that when he did eventually speak his words would carry a great deal of weight. She wasn’t disappointed.

“Will you two idjits shut your pie holes?!”

The silence was deafening.

Both boys drew their eyes over to their mentor, Sam even having the decency to look sheepish. The demon tucked her tongue behind her lower teeth, lips parted slightly, waiting.

“You two can sit here squabblin’ all night, but it still ain’t gonna figure out the truth,” Bobby continued in his Southern gravel, his eyes sharp from beneath the peak of his cap. “Way I see it, either way we got somethin’ Crowley wants and there ain’t nothin’ wrong with havin’ some leverage.”

The demon gave a very small nod of agreement to this, fingers gripping themselves a little tighter in her lap as her eyes darted from the older hunter to the Winchesters, gauging their response. There was a pregnant pause before Dean broke the quiet;

“You really want a cure?” He was looking at the woman sat on the stool intently, green eyes lit with a dangerous fire behind his irises as he studied her.

“I really want a cure…” she breathed in reply, words soft with their British accent, barely audible. Dean regarded her, seeming to try and actually look under her skin, then glanced over at his brother, a wordless request for his opinion.

“I’m prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt…” was Sam’s answer and he shrugged his broad shoulders. “We put her in the panic room, what harm’s she gonna do?”

His elder brother clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, sloped his gaze back to the nervous looking demon, then finally murmured,

“Fine… But one toe outta line and she’s dust…”

 

* * *

 

_Bath, England, 1909. A small, ebony haired figure walked over dark cobble streets, hem of her deep green dress swinging at the heels of her pearl button boots. The only sound of was the click of her feet upon the stones. It was almost two in the morning. Her charges had kept her late that night, the younger of the two children she was governess for having developed a fever. She’d stayed until she had been able to settle her and her sister to sleep, then let herself out of the house, the other staff having long since gone to their beds. It was only in the last two months that she herself had given up her sleeping place in the house she was positioned at, having made arrangements with her mistress to be allowed to have private living quarters a few streets away now that the children were older. Her impending marriage had quite frankly made the need for her own home absolutely pressing. It was particularly cold that night as she made her way towards her home, fingers in moleskin gloves moving to lift the hood of her cape up over her head as she looked to shelter herself against frosty fingers of wind. This would prove to be her fatal mistake, as the rustle of wool around her ears buffeted away the sound of approaching footsteps until it proved too late to react to them. The first moment that knowledge of danger was awoken within her was when she received a savage blow to the back of her head, sending her spilling to the ground…_


	2. Litany

The following morning Sam and Dean sat in a slightly uncomfortable silence at the kitchen table, Sam nursing a cup of coffee, a bowl of cold oatmeal at his brother's elbow, abandoned halfway through. Around them were scattered various well thumbed books, yellowed pages of lore pinned back by whatever was available that constituted a paperweight; empty beer bottles, the corner of Sam's laptop, other books… The younger Winchester was tapping rapidly on the keys of aforementioned laptop, his brow furrowed in concentration as he filtered through the Internet’s offerings on succubi, while Dean flipped through his father's journal, though after working through the night he was still coming up frustratingly empty.

“Dammit!” he huffed, breaking the silence that had settled over the pair as the night had given way to the early hours of the morning. He dragged his palms down his face, stubble a little thicker on his jaw for the all nighter, and let out a weighted sigh, warm air slipstreaming between his fingers, elbows resting on the table top.

“I know…” Sam murmured in a sympathetic way, his weary gaze flickering from his screen to his brother, faint spiderlines of bloodshot capillaries around the edges of his eyes. “About ninety percent of the stuff I've gone into has just turned out to be porn…”

“Yeah?” Dean perked up, shoulders straightening slightly as he leaned forwards, attempting to peer over the top of the laptop screen.

“Dean, focus,” his brother replied, a hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth as he dragged the computer towards himself a couple more inches across the table top.

“You're lame at that whole sharing thing,” was the retort, a slight smile of his own on Dean's exhausted face as he leaned back into his chair, one arm draped behind him over the rest. “Anythin’ worth our time in the other ten percent?”

“Mostly just old wives’ tales mixed with Medieval propaganda,” Sam sighed, brows arched slightly as he turned the laptop around to face the screen towards his brother, revealing a picture of a painting on the screen, the subject a pale, voluptuous woman, her skin luminescent against the dark backdrop. At first glance she could have appeared demure, head tilted in a coy sort of way,eyes closed, waves of hair that had been rendered like spun gold spilling past her waist. However, the initial impression of innocence would vanish almost instantly, for around her naked frame were coiled a pair of enormous, black serpents. Their bodies swirled between her thighs and circled her hips, one of them resting it's head lazily in the woman's upturned palm, while the other was draped over her shoulder, head on her bare breast, forked tongue darting forwards to taste the unblemished skin of that soft mound. In short the woman in the painting looked enraptured, leaving an aftertaste of something decadent and dark…

“Huh…” was Dean's rather impassive response to this lascivious image, one eyebrow quirked in mild curiosity.

“According to the lore succubi are demons who prey on people for their sexual energy,” Sam continued, swivelling the screen towards himself once more.

“Tell me something we don't know.”

“Well… if some Hebrew writers from the Middle Ages are to be believed, Lilith was the first succubus,” the younger hunter replied with a shrug.

“Huh,” Dean uttered again, his other eyebrow lifting to meet its partner. “That… actually makes a lot of sense. I mean, that whole bangin’ to seal the deal gig..?”

“Right,” Sam agreed with a nod, a faint sheen of crimson in his cheeks for a moment, eyes lowered back to his laptop as he tabbed through a few windows to skim what he'd managed to find. “But I mean, the stuff on these guys is limited and sketchy as Hell. It contradicts itself at every turn. Some accounts say they only manifest in dreams, some say they possess vessels through intercourse… They're called demons by one culture and fae by another… Some accounts say they hunt for food, some for reproduction, some say it's just for fun… Hell, there's even one story about a friggin’ Pope having a pet one!”

“Now that is some serious bendin’ of the rules,” Dean replied with a lopsided grin, tongue appearing between his teeth for a fraction of a second.

“Right?” Sam agreed, inclining his head in a fractional nod as he glanced up. “Problem is though, none of this stuff adds up. How can we even attempt to find a cure if we don't know what we're dealing with?”

“Well, there's one option we've not looked into,” his brother replied with a one shouldered shrug. “Cas is like a walking Wikipedia on this junk.”

“Think it's time to call him?” the younger hunter said, already prepared to jump on the idea if it meant he could avoid stumbling into any more BDSM sites.

“Hey, worst that'll happen is he'll be a no-show, right?” Dean reasoned with a slight smirk before he raised his eyes skyward, his tone purposefully a little theatrical as he spoke; “Castiel, great nerdy angel of the Lord, we lesser mortals pray to you to get your ass down here and release us from our suffering!”

Less than a heartbeat passed before there was the distinct rustle of wings and the shape of the angel appeared at Dean's side, bringing with him the scent of petrichor, static and something very vaguely floral. Castiel peered down at the brothers, eyes landing on Sam first, then Dean, his brow furrowing with a crease in the centre of it, jaw set and cobalt eyes piercing to the point of being invasive as he looked down at him.

“I thought you were suffering..?” he uttered, his deep gravel of a voice going some way to cover the confusion in the question.

“We are!” Dean replied and sat forwards to gesture to the haphazard collection of books scattered across the table. “Research wall, Cas!”

“Dean, suffering implies physical or psychological trauma, not an inability to tolerate doing one's work…” the angel murmured, mild annoyance seeping into his deep voice despite his outwardly still countenance.

“Oh trust me, we're traumatised! You try studying sex demons for fourteen hours straight! We need mind bleach!” the older Winchester declared, beginning to look amused with himself as he threw a dramatic hand towards his brother, looking for back-up.

“I see… So you called me to erase your memories..?” Castiel murmured, his head tilted to the right a fraction as he tried to piece together exactly why he was there. Dean released a breath of laughter through his nose at this, his brother shaking his head quickly as he interjected;

“No, Cas, that's not why we called you. We, uh… have kind of a situation. What can you tell us about succubuses?”

 

* * *

 

An hour later Castiel stood in the basement, intent blue eyes peering through the slot in the iron door, akin to that you'd find on a prison cell, which was quite frankly fitting given its inhabitant. Preternatural vision searched through the grubby half light that filtered down from a single dangling bulb, searching. It took several moments to find the huddled shape in the shadows, the hunkered figured curled up on a canvas army surplus cot, shoved up against the far wall. She almost melted into the concrete wall she leaned against, save for the white sheen of her skin, grabbing what little light there was in the room and throwing it back out so she seemed to gain a near opalescent quality.

He could smell it on her. Sulfur, mixed with burnt cinnamon and vanilla, clinging to the inside of his nostrils. The scent of Hell merged together with her own perfume.

Features twisting into a scowl, there was the brief rustling of feathers before he was on the other side of the door, stood in the narrow cone of yellow light before her. Bloodshot turquoise eyes flickered up to meet his, tear tracks staining what was undeniably a lovely face. As Castiel looked down at the little figure, one hand slowly reaching deep into the folds of his trench coat to close around the cold hilt of his angel blade, she began to uncurl, pale legs unfolding so that booted toes touched the floor hesitantly. She was watching him like some wild animal caught in an oncoming car's high beams, a very genuine and deep seated fear rooting itself in her pretty features.

Stalemate fell in that moment as they regarded one another, a pair of unearthly beings from opposing worlds, seconds stretching between them. The angel found himself quietly surprised by the demon's stillness. He had expected her to rush him as soon as he entered the room, but instead she was pinned under his gaze. Not what he had anticipated.

As he produced the sword, the cold silver in his palm winking in the light as it emerged from his coat, her eyes widened and her shoulders instinctively drew up. She was frightened now. Her Doc Martens pushed against the cold floor, sliding her along the cot further away from him, fingers gripping the scrap of woollen blanket beneath her as though somehow it might protect her. Castiel's brow knit together as he watched this. He knew this was an execution, but her behaviour was beginning to make it feel distinctly like murder. It was a clever ploy on her part. Manipulating him through feigned humanity as a deterrent.

This is your duty he mentally reminded himself, before he took a step forwards. Ignoring the part of him that felt oddly compelled to apologise for his actions, he began to raise the blade. She had run out of room to scooch any further across the cot, perched on the most outer corner and as he approached her, the fear in her eyes looked to be reaching it's peak before they spilled over with black oil slick, swallowing up pupil, iris et al.

There it was. The truth.

Resignation washed through him as he tightened his grip on the hilt, closing the gap between them, senses on alert as her surrender to the situation seemed to match his own. She closed those dark portals that accounted for eyes and as he was ready to bring his weapon crashing down upon her cowering form her lips began to move, causing him to pause as he heard the words that spilled from them, her voice quivering with each syllable;

“Lord, I accept from Your hands whatever kind of death it may please You to send me this night, with all its pains, penalties and sorrows; in reparation for all of my sins and for Your greater glory-”

“Stop.”

Deception. It had to be. Somehow she'd found a way to pray without the words bubbling through her like molten lava. Another trick. But how?

_Demons lie, Castiel..._

It had been enough, though. The angel blade hovered in mid air, his grip on it wavering. If he wasn't sure it would be blasphemy, he could have called it a miracle.

Jet pools hesitantly opened to gaze up at him, fresh tears spilling over and sliding down her cheeks. It just didn't make sense.

“Why are you praying?” he finally managed. The words seemed lame and pointless as he spoke them, but he had not been prepared for this. This was an alien situation. Mitigating circumstances. She looked up at him as though she was just as confused as he was, then hesitantly replied,

“Because I am hoping if God's name is the last word on my lips, He might grant me reprieve from Hell...”

This really threw him. By the time she'd finished speaking, the blade was ready to slide from his grasp. He slipped it into his sleeve so he wouldn't drop it, staring at her all the while as he strove to find his tongue, wanting to interrogate her now;

“Why would a demon seek redemption?”

“Why would an angel care?” came the retort. This had his guard shooting back up. He stared at her intently, cobalt eyes boring into her, searching for the trickery.

“I… your prayer… it… surprised me… It is a strange thing for a creature such as you to do...” He couldn't bring himself to lie to her, even if she was an abomination. His hard wiring ran too deep apparently.

His answer actually drew a smile from her, though it carried no mirth in it. If anything it only added to her pitiful expression, some deep seated wound in her large eyes.

The angel could feel himself floundering now. He hadn't come into this room intent on a theological discussion. He had to perform that which Heaven had charged him with. She was just another demon, a scar on the surface of his Father's creation that needed to be exterminated, despite what Dean and Sam said. But she was confusing him and as he held the hilt of his blade inside his sleeve like a particularly dangerous security blanket she was still talking to him, her voice weary and cracking, sounding so utterly genuine it was beginning to make his head hurt;

“You're so swift to judge me because that's the way you were made. Do you really think only angels and men want peace? I'm a bastardisation of what I once was. And I can't bare it any more. But trying to take matters into my own hands does nothing, I seem to be immune. And even if I succeeded, it would only pitch me straight into Hell... What other option did I have but to turn to hunters?”

His feet involuntarily took a step back. These weren't the words of a monster. They were few and they were frightened, but they rang true. She remained balled up at the end of the bed as she watched him, the inkiness of her eyes peeling back to reveal clear turquoise irises once more.

“I'm praying because I have a soul...” she murmured, the word 'soul' actually sounding as if it caused her agony to even utter it. “Or at least a slither of one to still call my own. And if you're going to dispatch me, angel, I want what little I can stake a claim to to be right with God, as much as it ever can be after all the things I've done...”

He was retreating towards the door now, all his righteousness petering out of him. She looked a feeble, broken thing, curled up on the narrow strip of dank green canvas. The angel couldn't process it. If it was an act, it was a good one. Good enough to make him falter. To even cause perhaps a stirring of pity within him. For a moment he gazed at her, seeing nothing more than a terrified young woman, then he was out of the room, head swimming.

She'd disarmed him so quickly. Whether it was manipulation or truth, he couldn't say. But it had made the blade stick in his hand and he'd failed in what he knew he should have done.

If she had a soul then it was murder. She was still one of his Father' blessed creations, however fractured. He should have checked. He could have checked and she'd pushed him so off kilter he hadn't.

Stood outside the door, he peered through the slot one last time, an unpleasant twist of doubt in his chest. She'd drawn her knees back up to her chin and had fixed the floor with a vacant stare. There was no triumph in her face, no victory that she had won her life. If anything she looked... disappointed?

As he observed her, he saw trailing swirls of ink beneath her skin creep over her left leg and forearm, seeping down to the back of her hand. Spidery lines of Enochian script began to appear, unfurling into lines of spells to deter angels. Geometric symbols bloomed into life as well, more magical markings, wards against his kind. Castiel felt a sigh escape his lips as he watched this. She was arming herself against him. No matter what she might say, she was still a demon and he was still an angel. One could not coexist with the other. Eventually one of them was going to be ended whether the Winchesters liked it or not and it was a pretty solid bet as to whom.

As he considered this though, he felt another uncomfortable stab within. She felt... real. It would take much more in depth investigation but there was the creeping sensation in the pit of his stomach that he may be remorseful when the time came to lift his blade once more and do what he should have done today…

 

 

* * *

 

_  
She landed with a hard smack on the pavement, hands and cheek stinging as they collided with the stone, the cold making the impact all the worse. The fall knocked the air from her lungs, ripping away the ability to make any sort of noise of pain or fear and her head swam as she tried to focus her gaze on the world from her new perspective. Before she could get her bearings however, she felt an impossibly strong pair of hands seize her waist, a second grabbing onto her ankles, the grip digging into her limbs and in a lurch she was half lifted, half dragged, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as her chin struck a cobble from the movement, mouth filling with the coppery tang of blood… _


	3. Veracity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this chapter is un-beta'd, so I apologise in advance for any errors in it. If I can I will get it beta'd and update it later, just being with the time of year that it is, it's a wee bit tough. Still, though, I hope people enjoy it. If you do, please comment/kudo, it would make my day.

The angel did not return to the basement for the remainder of the day. Instead he sat upstairs with the Winchesters, recounting his somewhat sparse understanding of succubi to the hunters, in truth little more use than their spotty research had been. The only thing they were able to discern was that she could be killed much the same as any other demon; holy water, salt, smiting. And that had come from Bobby, who'd picked one off almost a decade back, though he hadn't stopped to have a chat with her at the time, too concerned with the trail of bodies she'd been leaving in her wake.

Truth was the most obvious solution was sat in the compact room beneath them, but the older hunter had forbidden from going down there unless an absolute emergency. His previous encounter had at least informed him well enough to know that one slip in concentration around a thing like that could have them in her grasp, the life being sucked out of them before they could even come to their senses enough to be concerned about it.

And so they were left to rely on lore ridden with gaps gaping wide and the angel, going around in frustrating circles of conjecture, until relief had finally come up in the form of a job. A call about a vampire nest had the three men barrelling out the door, leaving Castiel with strict instructions to not burn the place down if he was going to stay back alone. They would pray if they needed him, but otherwise he was essentially free to go about his own business…

He experienced a flicker of surprise when he found himself stood at the top of the basement stairs. The house was eerily quiet without the clamorous presence of the Winchesters and their mentor. The angel could practically hear the building around him breathing as he stared down, the last few steps invisible in the blanket of darkness beneath him, swallowed up beyond the reach of the light bulb dangling over his head in the corridor. He could make out the vague, sweet scent of her rising from below, edged with that must of sulphur. It was a pointed reminder she was in fact still locked down there.

Against his better judgement he began to descend with slow, weighted steps, almost certain he was breaking the rules, though they had not been laid out before him implicitly. He wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do down there, but a sort of intellectual curiosity had gotten the better of him. So far keen words and a tearful face had gotten the better of him. That would never stand if his superiors called into question why he had allowed this thing to live…

When he reached the bottom he slowly approached the iron door to the makeshift cell, the slot in it still slid back, allowing him to peer inside without immediately alerting the demon within to his presence. She was crouched at the far side of the room, her back to him, a contraband pebble she'd picked up from somewhere grasped in her pale fingers. Slow movements were drawing it down the wall, picking out a series of faint lines on the rusted iron, neatly clustered together in a sort of tally. As the angel watched she paused in her drawing, counting each one with light touches of her fingertips, then scrubbed a cross through the first two in the row before she leaned back on her heels, inspecting her handiwork. It took the angel a few moments to realise she was in fact creating a crude countdown of sorts, though for what he didn't know. Waiting until he was sure she was finished, he finally teleported into the room, reasoning with himself that if he didn't open the door he wasn't directly flouting Bobby's instructions. It was a technicality but it assuaged his conscience a little.

The raven haired woman flinched as she heard him, her head whipping around to stare at him wide eyed over her shoulder. In a flash she stuffed the slither of stone into the pocket of her denim shorts, clearly knowing she shouldn't have it. Castiel chose not to comment for the time being, more weighty concerns at the forefront of his mind. He took a wordless step towards her, the slight creature before him slowly standing to face him, her movements suggesting she was as wary of doing anything sudden as he was. The angel gave her a curt nod once she'd straightened, noticing the tattoos adorning what looked to be the entirety of the left side of her body swirl and warp under his gaze, settling once more into deeply complex angelic warding.

“I am not going to kill you… At least, not at this present time,” he offered as he watched the spellwork unfurl over her porcelain limbs. It was meant genuinely enough, but delivered in the angel's stern gravel it sounded more like a promise that he simply intended to finish her at a later date, causing the woman to drift backwards a step, her back coming to a stop against the wall, turquoise eyes regarding him with primal fear that had first reared that morning when he'd rounded on her with his angel blade.

Castiel sighed, the sound one of frustration and perhaps even a touch of awkwardness. Interacting with humans was in and of itself challenge enough, but with a demon who seemed to cling to traits of humanity… Well, that was wholly alien territory.

“I wish to examine you,” he continued, feeling an attempt to justify his presence might go some way to cut the tension in the room. To his dismay though it had the opposite effect, the demon's rosebud lips parting in the beginnings of a horrified expression as she echoed,

“Examine me..? What is that supposed to mean..?”

“Your soul,” Castiel continued, his voice stoically even in comparison to the mounting fear in the woman's. “It may warrant a stay of execution for you.”

Alright, so the angel knew the moment that came out of his mouth it was a poor choice of words, however well intentioned they were. The demon's expression was enough to inform him of that, what little colour there was in her face draining from it rapidly, eyes two huge, terrified pools. What was it Dean had said to him once? Good intentions pave the road to Hell…

“It is a good thing,” he said quickly, beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable as he fought to justify what he was proposing. “I do not wish to harm you if you are undeserving…”

He was trying, he really was. He just had no idea how to handle a situation as delicate as this one, the Winchesters having been little use in terms of tutelage. True, Sam seemed to have more finesse when it came to empathising with victims, but Dean's get-to-it attitude generally put paid to his brother's more gentle tactic, leaving the angel slim pickings on techniques for how to deal with scenarios such as this one.

The demon simply stared at him while he explained himself, her arms moving to cross over her chest to embrace herself in a way that made her look quietly vulnerable as she finally murmured,

“Examine me how..?”

Castiel almost sighed with relief. She was at least prepared to discuss it.

“Your soul,” he replied, using a great deal of conscious effort to try and make his voice sound patient and reasonable. “I would touch it, to see if you are telling us the truth. I would prefer to have your consent to do so, however. It is painful.”

She was still staring at him, regarding him silently, the only cue she'd actually heard his words a flicker of her long, jet lashes as her eyes grew a little more, causing them to look deceptively innocent.

“It is my understanding consent is generally required before laying your hands upon someone,” the angel added, beginning to pick up speed as he spoke, trying to reason with the slight woman before him as politely as he could, though the whole situation was making him feel well out of his depth. It would be much simpler to simply do what was required without permission, but if she was carrying a piece of a human soul he would then be in the dangerous situation of violating one of his Father's creations. “I would be brief as I were able to, but I did not wish to ask you for this without you understanding that it will be unpleasant…”

The succubus let him ramble, the only expression on her pale face in the size of her bright eyes, her silence lingering long enough to have Castiel reasoning with himself that she would refuse, until finally her prim accent broke the stretched moment of unpleasant quiet;

“And what will you do if you find what you are looking for, angel..?”

She was looking at him with an unnerving, penetrating gaze, fingers curling around her biceps as she held herself, weight shifting to tilt through one hip. Castiel frowned thoughtfully, eyebrows pinched together as he considered his answer, then finally said with absolute sincerity,

“I will help you.”

She continued to fix him with that piercing gaze, her eyes so clear and so bright, irises flecked with blue and green, and for a moment under that gaze the angel could almost understand how she could be so alluring to her victims; intense and hypnotic all at once, seeming to look right under his vessel's skin. Finally, just as he was beginning to feel too uncomfortable she spoke again, voice calm and clear as she said,

“You have my consent…”

The angel looked down at her, nodding once as she agreed, actually experiencing a brief flash of relief, before he took a measured step towards her, a hand outstretched towards her as he said in low, steady tones,

“You must try to relax. Please, move your arms…”

There was a momentary flash of nervousness in the woman's eyes as he closed the gap between them, her instincts wanting her to back away from him despite the fact that her back pressed against the wall left her nowhere else to go. Ultimately though she did as he requested, slowly lowering her hands to hang at her sides, her fingers curled slightly to project an air of quiet uneasiness. The angel gave her another nod, a silent gesture of encouragement, and tugged his coat sleeve up to his elbow, followed by the blazer and shirt ones underneath.

“You promise you are just going to look?” Serendipity whispered as she stared up at him, unable to hide the quiver in her words as her fingers moved to grasp at the hem of her flannel over-shirt, looking for an anchor.

“I promise,”  the angel replied in a low but genuine murmur. “It is not my intention to do you any harm. You may still refuse if you wish.”

“I don't want to do that,” she replied softly, ebony waves swaying as she shook her head. “I came here to cooperate. Do what you need to…” She took a tentative step towards him as she spoke, her eyes never leaving his face even as her dilated pupils spoke volumes about the fear she was experiencing. Castiel dipped his head in another nod, then reached out to lay one hand on her upper right arm to steady her as he murmured,

“Remember to breathe…” His other hand that he'd freed from his sleeves paused for a moment, palm hovering all of an inch above her sternum, then after he met her gaze, holding those turquoise portals with his own intent blue ones, he began to drive his hand forwards, delving into her chest as it her skin was tissue paper.

The sound that left the demon was truly horrific, a piercing, agonised scream that in the confined space of the panic room ricocheted off the walls and rang around them in an outcry of pure pain. Castiel flinched as it erupted from her but continued nonetheless, plunging his arm deeper into her shaking frame, his hand on her upper arm tightening its grasp to keep her from reeling away. His fingers flexed and stretched, moving past the confines of her physical form to search deeper, her demonic taint feeling as though it was clinging to his skin like tar, broiling around his prying digits. As shock began to overtake the succubus in his hold she fell suddenly silent, her eyes rolling back in her head before they swept over black, the jet slick apparently more instinctive than from any deliberate change. His hand compressed her arm hard enough that it would leave distinctive marks were it human flesh, working to keep her on her feet but also perhaps to assure her that he had a safe hold on her. He probed his way through her essence, about to give up when he felt it; a warm spark of his very fingertips, fleeting but definitely there. A scowl of concentration pulling his brows together, he went deeper still, a sudden shock slamming through him as he made contact with his quarry; the small sun that was undoubtedly a human soul.

Except something was very wrong with it.

As he explored it he could actually feel the torment pouring off it, a fractured, abused thing, torn asunder, a piece of it just... _missing_ , leaving behind the remainder lacerated beyond repair. It was as if someone had taken a metaphysical butcher knife to it, the edges raw and scarred, abused so deeply it was a miracle that the demon was able to string a sentence together. It oozed trauma on a level far beyond the physical or mental and Castiel almost reeled, the experience of touching it enough to cause bile to rise in his throat and his head to swim.

With a gasp he snatched his hand back, freeing the demon from his invasion. The second she was free of the offending limb her legs began to give way beneath her, the angel only just managing the presence of mind to catch her about her waist and crush her to his chest to stop her crumbling to the floor. She fell limply against him, head hanging over his bicep to look at the stone floor, though her eyes were glazed and out of focus, petite frame still shuddering from that which he'd inflicted on her. Castiel looped his arm under hers in a secure if ungainly hold as she sagged against him, finally managing to find his voice enough to mutter in a hoarse voice,

“Monstrous…”

They stood that way for several minutes, the angel's breathing staggered and uneven as he recovered, Serendipity spent in his hold from her ordeal, eyes eventually returning to their natural turquoise as they gazed listlessly at the floor. Finally Castiel came to his senses enough to realise he had to move her, swallowing before he tightened his arm around her waist, his other hand drifting to rest with a light but deliberate touch on the small of her back.

“Come here…” he murmured, taking a slow step to guide her towards the cot against the wall, the demon moving in a submissive shuffle. The angel manoeuvred her small frame to sit on the edge of the moss coloured canvas and carefully arranged her white hands in her lap, noticing the tremble in her fingers. When he was sure she was secure, he moved to drop to one knee before her, forearm propped on his arm for balance as he gazed up at her ashen face, her gaze still on the floor, an aura of shock radiating from her. Castiel let out a low sigh, this time the sound one of diffident sympathy, then he broke the uneasy quiet to breathe,

“Serendipity… How did this happen to you..?”

Her eyes finally lifted, pupils still blown wide as she stared at him, a brief flicker of a nerve at the corner of her mouth as she swallowed back tears, before she finally whispered in reply,

“I was murdered…”

* * *

_Stars filled her vision as she was dragged away from the street and the gas lamps that were supposedly there to offer her safety. The hands on her legs dropped her as suddenly as they had grabbed her as she was hefted into an alleyway that wove its way behind the terraces of houses, though the relief was momentary as a fist closed in her hair instead, yanking her up as blood dribbled over her lower lip and down her chin. Her head swam to the point she could barely keep conscious as she was pulled to her knees, hearing a male voice say hesitantly,_

_“Bertie, isn’t that your wife’s girl?”_

_“Shut up, Edmund!” a slurred voice spat, Serendipity feeling a shudder of dread go through her spine as she recognised it instantly. Trying to force her turquoise eyes to focus, she looked up as she felt a hard yank on her hair snap her head back, seeing the owner of that voice; Bertrand Harrington, her employer…_

_He and three other men were stood around her, dressed in full dinner-wear, looking down at her as if she might as well have been a stray dog. Bertrand himself was the one with his fingers entangled in her raven waves, using it as leverage to drag her about, eyes sharp and terrifyingly merciless as he spoke to his fellows;_

_“She is not my wife’s girl. She is mine. I pay for her to prance around as if she were a lady, but she is nothing but a glorified whore._ I _put money in her hands and she does as my_ wife _says. But_ I _own her. It’s about time she learned as much.”_

_A malicious, drunken smile spread over her employer’s face as he finished his speech and a frightened whimper escaped the woman in his grip. It was all making a sudden and horrifying amount of sense; the way she’d caught him looking at her when she served the children’s breakfast, the way he would tail her sometimes when she changed the linens or selected books from the house’s library… He was stalking her, like a wolf that tailed a rabbit… And now he had come to the apex of his hunt..._


	4. Transmogrify

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, here is your official heads up/warning/act of common courtesy. This chapter deals directly with rape and abuse. It's is not grossly graphic or nasty, but it is here, in black and white. Consider this your PSA. That being said, I hope that those of your who do read enjoy and if you do, please leave a comment/kudos etc, much obliged!

Castiel looked up at the demon before him with a startled expression at her answer. He had not expected something so succinct, her words sincere as few as they were. He stared up at her, Serendipity meeting his gaze with hollow turquoise eyes as the uncomfortable silence passed between them in the wake of her words, until the angel chose a few of his own that perhaps landed a little off the mark of how they were meant to;

“Why would someone do that?”

 She responded to this with a short, bitter laugh and shook her ebony head, her gaze dropping his to fall into her lap instead.

 “Oh come now, angel…” she breathed, the sour note an undercurrent in her voice, trying to mask her real misery. “Surely you have watched humanity long enough to realise that they are stupid, avaricious creatures? They don't need a reason to be violent, it is simply their nature…”

 He scowled as she spoke, something about her words causing an unpleasant twist in his gut, an instinctive need to defend the species he had been placed in watch over as he murmured,

 “But you have inflicted that same violence…”

 “You make it sound as if I had a choice,” was her retort, a shudder going through her frame as the adrenaline from where he'd probed at her soul began to drain away.

 “Didn't you?” he pressed gently as he could, already beginning to get the sense that he was upsetting her. If he did that he'd get no answers at all.

 The demon before him let out a low sigh, her fingers roping together in her lap as her feet turned inwards a little to touch the toes of her boots together, the brief flicker of anger already seeming to dissolve from her as quickly as it had reared, voice coated with shame as she said softly,

 “An addict has very little in the way of choice at the best of times. An addict shaped by the now King of Hell has none…” She shook her head in a brief motion, raven waves swaying as they partially shadowed her face, her eyes turned down to her thighs, evidently uncomfortable by the turn of the conversation. Castiel’s brows pinched together as he watched her from his perch at her feet, then he shifted, pushing himself up and drifting to sit on the edge of the cot, careful to leave a couple of measured feet beneath them, feeling the frame bow slightly beneath his weight. She made no protest to him making himself comfortable; in fact it was almost as if she didn’t notice, her narrow shoulders sunken beneath an invisible weight as she stared at her own porcelain legs, the inkwork on her left thigh moving in a brief shudder. Castiel ran his tongue along the inside of his upper teeth for a moment before he tried again, an almost morbid curiosity about the odd demon making him behave in a fashion that he would later regard as foolish;

 “Do you truly believe those things? About humans?”

“It’s what I have learned…” she replied softly, the tone of her voice resigned as though what she was saying was fact. “It is what I have been shown and what I have come to carry with me. There is no mercy in men’s hearts…”

 “Yet you still have your faith..?” he pressed, trying to unpick the woman beside him and fashion an understanding of her that made some sort of sense, though so far he was coming up short.

 “I have to,” she breathed, finally looking over at him, turquoise eyes gleaming like jewels from within the snowy skin of her face, her expression absolutely serious. “If I didn’t I think that would be the final thread of my humanity gone… I will cling to God until my last breath, because I have to have something to hope for… If things like you and I are real, then clearly He is too, right?”

 The angel simply stared at her dumbly for a stretched moment at this, unsure how he was expected to respond to a comment like that. Of course he was meant to agree fervently, to sing his Father’s praise and assure her that yes, of course He was real and He was watching them and all would be well with the world if she continued to hold onto her belief in Him. Instead though, all he could ultimately manage was a fractional nod, his frame stiffening slightly, the desire to change the subject making his chest tighten.

 “You did not answer my question,” he murmured in his deep gravel as he dropped her gaze to watch her hands instead, skirting the conversation back around as skillfully as he could, which granted was not very.

 “What question?” he heard her respond gently, seeing those lily white digits tighten the grip on themselves slightly.

 “About how you became this way,” the angel replied, the furrow in his brow deepening. “You told me you were murdered… But a violent death does not make a demon.”

 “Not alone, no,” Serendipity murmured, one hand lifting from her lap to brush her hair behind her ear in a habitual motion, the raven waves tumbling down her back to spill all the way to her waist. “I… I suppose you could say I died in special circumstances…”

 “Tell me,” the angel rumbled, his bright blue eyes lifting to her face to find her watching him in turn, her pupils large with the lack of the light in the compact room, contributing to that doe-eyed, innocent look about her that was so dangerous.

 “Why does it matter?” she said quietly, a noticeable reluctance in her voice, her brows arching in a way that painted the beginnings of distress on her white features. “I am what I am now… Digging up the past won’t rectify anything…”

 “It does matter. It- It matters because how can I help you if I do not understand what has been done to you?” Castiel replied, trying to give an answer that wasn’t simply down to his own embarrassing curiosity about her. The demon sighed at this, squirming slightly through her legs to twist the balls of her feet against the stone floor as she murmured,

 “Alright... But it is an ugly story.. Consider that fair warning…”

 *   *   *

  _The wind was knocked from her lungs when she was hauled to her feet and thrown back violently against the alleyway wall, a fresh mist of blood bursting from her lips from the impact. Betrand’s fingers closed about her throat, thumb pressing on her windpipe as he glared at her with a terrifying cocktail of absolute hatred and animalistic want, the stench of absinthe and laudanum on his breath. Her vision clouded as he restricted her oxygen, though she was still able to make out the grey faces of his companions lingering behind him as he lifted his free hand and tugged the leather glove adorning it off with his teeth. Why weren’t they doing something?_

 Oh God… Oh God, please save me from this demon…

  _She felt vomit rising in her throat when a clumsy hand tore at the bodice of her dress, ripping stitching to reveal the virgin breasts beneath, grabbing at them greedily with bruising pressure, the sour taste of sick mixing with the blood coating her tongue. She was too far gone to fight him though, half suffocated and concussed, her mind almost detached from her body. Perhaps there was some mercy in that…_

  _When he forced himself inside her the pain was entirely consuming, a strangled cry leaving her throat that he quickly silenced by a smothering hand. The agony swallowed her up, her fragile frame crushed against the wall in a sort of catatonic haze of suffering as he tore her asunder,  some distant spark firing in the depths of her brain to tell her that she was ruined now, spoiled for her future husband…_

  _She didn’t know how long it lasted, how many times she changed hands, time losing all meaning in her assaulted state. At some point the other men lost the last shreds of their consciences and followed her employer’s suit, taking whatever suited them, her body breaking piece by piece under their violations._

  _Betrand was the worst though. Even through the disorientated, half conscious cloud of her mind, she knew that. Whatever she had done to enrage him, it must have been unforgivable, because it soon became clear he would not be satisfied until he had undone her beyond repair…_

  _By the time they were through with her, the little woman knew she was dying. It was the only thing she could really hold onto in her mind as she was dropped onto the flagstones like some limp doll, her face beaten and swollen, lips split, eyes so blackened with bruising they were all but forced shut. Her dress clung onto her shattered frame by little more than threads, blood coating her white thighs, her skirts pushed up still offering her nothing but shame even as she struggled more and more with each breath._

  _Even through her slitted eyes though, she could see Betrand hovering above her, his chest heaving as he caught his breath, straightening his collar and hair as though he had not so much as taken a light stroll. She heard a tiny, strangled noise leave somewhere deep from within her throat, entirely involuntarily, some subconscious, wordless plea for mercy from the man whose children she had loved so completely they may as well have been her own. If he noticed it though, she’d never know, for a moment later he scooped her cape up off the ground from where it had been torn away from her throat earlier, then dropped it over her face, the fabric covering her in a blanket of darkness and muffling the sound of their footsteps striding away…_

  _Time lost all meaning once more as she lay in that bloodied, mangled heap, waiting for death to come and offer her relief. She managed to find enough sense in her exhausted brain to mentally appeal to God, begging him silently for deliverance from this nightmare, fingers that were undoubtedly fractured clasping weakly at the wool covering her face to try and pry it off, but too weak to._

 Oh, Lord, please… Don’t leave me alone like this…

  _“Dear me, look at what a mess we have here.”_

  _The voice that broke through the fog of pain was coarse and low, sympathetic at the outset but yet… Off. Serendipity flinched as someone else pulled the offending cape off her battered face, revealing a round, grizzled face adorned with a short scrag of a beard and heavy set brow that was drawn down in concern. Dark brown eyes were gazing at her intently, a gleam of something in them that she couldn’t place, she was so beyond making any real sense of the world by now. She let her swollen, bloodshot eyes trail over his receding hairline and creased forehead, then she saw that thin lips were twitched in a shadow of a smile. Calloused fingers reached out to pick strands of ebony hair away from her face, the thin slithers sticking to her from her own blood, utterly gentle touches. That didn’t stop her from whimpering though, the sound pure pain and fear, until her fuzzy gaze landed on the white square collar and black robes that swathed the stocky shoulders of the man kneeling beside her. Oh God… A priest._

  _She managed to move enough to snatch her fingers at his sleeve, words slurred as she mumbled in a feeble voice,_

  _“Father…”_

  _“Hush now, pet. I’ve got you, you’re safe now,” came his reply, his hand catching hers and stroking the back of her fingers in an attentive motion, his dark eyes fixed on her with an expression that if she had been compos mentis enough to realise, she would have recognised as rapture. “You poor little duckie. It’s just not been your night, has it?”_

  _She let out a desperate, barely audible grunt in reply, the priest giving her fingers a careful squeeze as he breathed,_

  _“Someone has been rather naughty, haven’t they? Doing this to a helpless creature like you. It’s not fair, is it?”_

  _She wanted to shake her head, tried for all she was worth, but couldn’t manage it, her frame too ruined to facilitate the gesture. God, why couldn’t she just die?_

  _“Why don’t I pray with you, hm?” He was still talking to her, words that should have been comforting, but there was something lacking in them. Her fingers managed to tighten on his just a little, enough to try and show she agreed with him, that yes, she wanted to pray, to find some sort of relief for her wounded soul. The priest seemed to understand, for he nodded, his smile growing as he continued;_

  _“What should we pray for? I know… What about justice? I could give you justice. Do you want that? For the men who did this to you? I mean, look at you. They’ve taken your virtue, your life… Your fiance, what will he think when he finds out about all this? You’ve been disgraced and you won’t even be alive to defend yourself…”_

  _Richard… Richard, he would find out, it would be a scandal, he would think her a common whore and he would never know this was forced upon her… The dying woman was so frightened for what her fiance would hold of her in his memory she didn’t even pause to consider how the priest knew that she was engaged._

  _“Should we ask for justice for you, hm?” He was still talking, something about his voice deeply coaxing, as if trying to entice her almost, his words starting to blur together as she lost more and more blood. What was he saying? She couldn’t quite tell…_

  _“Say yes. Say yes, pet, and I will be able to take all of this away for you. No more pain, no more fear. No more shame. You’ll be free and you’ll have justice. Just say yes.”_

  _No more pain… That sounded good…_

  _“Yes…”_

  _She surprised herself with the sound of her own voice, the single syllable cracked and distant, as though coming from someone else’s throat. Unfocused turquoise eyes were briefly aware of the shadow of a dark smile on the priest’s face, before suddenly his mouth was on hers, bristles pressing into her raw skin. By now she was too drained to even be panicked by it, a far away part of herself telling her that this was not what a priest did, but honestly, after everything else that night, what was one more betrayal?_

  _It was only when a fresh type of pain began that she realised something was very, very wrong._

  _It seared through her mouth first, down her throat, seeming to pour from him into her, burning and scorching and tearing something inside of her away. Then it went deeper, down into her gut, her belly, her very womb. It spread out across her limbs, right to the very extremities, and just when she thought it could be no worse she felt the priest wrench away from her mouth, seeing a trail of something shining pure white disappearing in a bright slither between his lips._

  _Next thing she knew she was arching her back off the ground, a primal scream leaving her lips as the pain went deeper still, into every molecule of her body. Her fingers clawed against the cobbles, tearing off her own nails, only for them to regrow immediately, the splits and swells and breaks in her bones knitting back together as she writhed._

  _Crowley calmly pushed himself back on his heels, then got to his feet, taking a few steps back to watch his handiwork unfurl, his arms crossed across his chest as his lips curled in a self-satisfied smirk. He’d never have thought he’d stumble across the perfect set of circumstances that he had tonight. It was a once in a blue moon thing, rarer even. The wronged woman, fallen at a crossroads… Hell, it was even almost a myth, no one had ever actually_ made _one in his lifetime. But here he was, the proud new father to his very own succubus…_

  _She was a thrashing mess on the ground though, at this current moment, spidery black veins racing over her white skin as her body rewrote itself, her small frame shuddering and seizing, contorting into frightful shapes. Crowley tutted softly, picking at a stray hair on his cassock and flicking it off, waiting patiently._

  _Finally she began to settle, the transformation reaching its end. The horrendous marks of her abuse were gone, her skin smooth, flawless alabaster, the blood soaking her hair magically vanished, leaving it full and shining deepest ebony in the moonlight as it fanned beneath her. She was gasping for air, staring up at the sky, and it was all Crowley could do not to laugh with glee as he saw her eyes spill over black as pitch._

  _"Beautiful…” he muttered to himself, voice full of pride, and he tilt his head, taking one last moment to admire his new creation, then vanished in a furl of sulphur scented smoke. He wasn’t stupid enough to hang about for the fallout that was sure to come next._

  _Serendipity meanwhile lay staring at the stars above, dragging one lungful of cold air after another into her body as the flames that had been searing through her being seemed to finally be going out. She let out a low groan, the noise fuelled by shock, then dragged herself up to sit, looking around herself for the priest, but he was nowhere to be seen… Her eyes glanced down each of the four paths the alleyway she’d been left in split into, looking for some sort of sign of life, finding she was able to see down the dark paths in alarming levels of detail.... There was no one though, she was all alone._

  _Slowly she pushed herself to stand, finding that any pain she’d felt before was long gone. As had any notion of cold, or weariness…_

  _She shivered and span on her heel, trying to pull her thoughts together, then in pure instinct, she snatched up the layers of her tattered dress and burst into a run, so shaken she didn’t even register she was sprinting at a speed far greater than any human was capable of..._

 *   *   *

Castiel listened in diligent silence as the demon wove her tale, his eyes widening occasionally, the only sign of any sort of reaction from him. When her voice trailed off and she fell silent as she spoke of her flight from the spot where she’d been risen by Crowley he waited to be sure she was done, then cleared his throat and spoke in a stiff voice;

 “You… You did not know what was being offered to you..?”

 “No…” she replied barely audibly, her gaze fixed on the toes of her boots, apparently too ashamed after telling her story to meet his eyes. “I thought he had come to save my soul… I thought he was sent by God… Instead he _stole_ my soul. He changed me and left me alone to learn what I had become…”

 Her voice thickened as she spoke, sounding dangerously close to tears, though there was anger there too, a deep seated and old resentment. Castiel watched her for several uncomfortable moments, trying to figure out what was the appropriate reaction to her behaviour, then finally settled on touching her upper arm very lightly with the back of his fingers, the gesture incredibly stiff but genuine as he murmured with a frown that was somehow sympathetic while being stern at the same time,

“You are not alone now… Tell me what happened next…”


	5. Perfidy

The pair talked for a good hour after that, their voices low in the stillness of the panic room. It took some occasional gentle prodding from Castiel for the demon to continue her tale, the exposure of the truth about her rebirth through Hell’s influence almost enough to have her clam up on him. However, with enough patient questioning from him she imparted a handful more details; how she had tried to return to her mortal life and failed spectacularly; how she had been forced to stage her own death so that her fiancé had been able to bury her memory; how she'd become a slave to her own starvation. The details were few, the succubus recanting her history with a purposeful sense of detachment, as if the memories were too painful to be embraced. Instead she spoke as if relaying snippets of someone else's life, voice erring on monotonous, an aura of complete resignation about her. That is, until the angel came to the crux of the issues;

“But why leave a piece of your soul untouched..?”

Serendipity stiffened, her tattoos flickering as the query seemed to shake her deep, pale fingers closing around the tips of her raven hair to tug lightly in a wholly uncomfortable gesture. 

“Curiosity…” she replied, voice barely above a whisper, the thought of the ruined thing inside her being addressed so directly causing a stirring of nausea in the pit of her stomach. “Boredom, perhaps. For amusement’s sake… It took me two years to find Crowley. I had to learn what I was for myself and through my run ins with other demons. You wouldn't believe how many are walking around in plain sight.”

“I would,” Castiel murmured simply, missing the fact that her statement had been rhetorical, the pale woman beside him offering him a small, wry smile from beneath the shadow of her waves. The angel blinked at her, then realising he had interrupted cleared his throat and added stiffly, “Continue…”

She gave him a fractional nod, a hand lifting to sweep her thick hair behind her ear and reveal her profile to him, turquoise gaze pinned to the wall opposite where she'd scratched the tally, voice soft as she picked up her story;

“When I eventually tracked him down he told me he'd been waiting for me. That he was disappointed I hadn't come to him sooner…”

*   *   *

_ “You took your time. I was starting to think you'd done something embarrassing like died.” _

_ Crowley sat in a high backed wooden chair in the shadows of the deepest corner of a pub in Whitechapel, one elbow propped on an armrest, his head tilted to lull his temple against his knuckles, self-satisfied smirk lifting one corner of his mouth as he gazed at the creature before him. There was no doubt, with her bare white shoulders, filthy and tattered crimson dress pinned up at one hip without petticoats beneath, and rouge staining her lips and cheeks; his youngest child was hiding her appetites in the guise of prostitution.  _

_ It took everything Serendipity had not to launch herself across the table at him, her eyes dark wells of onyx in her fury as she stared at her maker. Hitching the frayed lace shawl slewn around her shoulders higher, she sat uninvited in the seat opposite him, all but slamming herself down, her palms pressed hard against the sticky tabletop, whole frame quivering with rage, voice stuck in her throat. Now that she had finally found him she had no idea what words to say. There was nothing that would suffice. _

_ “You want to be careful, plying your trade about here,” the demon opposite her said with an airy wave of his hand towards her. “These parts have a reputation of nasty things happening to working girls. You never know who might jump out on you.” _

_ “As if they could touch me!” she spat, the words breaking free of their own volition. “What you did to me-" _

_ “I gave you a gift, pet.” Crowley cut her off, another flick of his hand gesturing towards her as if she was inconsequential. “You'd do well to remember it.” _

_ “A gift?!” she hissed, voice incredulous as she stared at him in horror. “You turned me into a monster!” _

_ “Identity is a point of view, darling,” the crossroads demon replied with a one shouldered shrug and picked up the glass of port from the table in front of him, dark eyes trained on her over the rim intently as he took a sip. Serendipity met his gaze with her own jet portals, loathing rolling through her veins. How could he be so candid?!  _

_ In a fit of anger she flicked a hand towards him, the glass ripping out of his hand and smashing against the nearby wall under the wave of her telekinetic influence. Crowley watched the blood red wine drip down the brickwork silently for an achingly long moment, then turned dangerous eyes on her and with barely a whisper of movement from his own hand the young succubus was pinned back against her chair, pressure crushing her chest and throat. _

_ “Temper, temper…” he drawled, Serendipity whimpering under his invisible hold. “I made you. And I can unmake you just as easily. So stop feeling all entitled.” _

_ She managed a fractional nod of obedience through the grasp of his power, Crowley studying her terrified face before he finally released her, the pale woman slumping forwards and gasping as he said with a smug smile,  _

_ “Besides, it's not as if you haven't been given a choice about all this. I think I've been quite generous.” _

_ Serendipity slowly raised her gaze as she panted, palms pressed on the tabletop for support as she looked at him, her eyes stripped of their black film to leave her irises turquoise and bloodshot from her throttling.  _

_ “You hardly gave me a choice…” she muttered hoarsely, her throat raw and eyes burning. “I was half dead. I had no idea what you were offering…” _

_ The demon opposite her quirked an eyebrow as if clueless about what she was referring to for a moment, then a broad smirk spread over his face and he shook his head with a low chuckle. _

_ “Oh no, pet, I don't mean our little chat while your were drowning in your own filth. That was just foreplay.” _

_ Her heart leapt into her mouth at his words, porcelain features turned grey as the blood ran out of them.  _

_ “What did you do..?” she whispered, unable to keep the pleading undertone from seeping into her voice. _

_ “Haven't you noticed what an irritating presence of conscience you have?” Crowley replied, his head tilted to return to it's resting place on his knuckles. “Where do you suppose that comes from, eh?” _

_ She swallowed and shook her head, unable to audibly answer him as an icy lump of fear slid down into the pit of her stomach. She had come so far for answers but suddenly she wasn't so sure she wanted them. _

_ “You're not quite finished yet,” her maker continued, his sharp eyes never leaving her face, smug smile a permanent feature as he spoke. “I collected the majority share of your soul that night. But a thing like you is rare. To have some control of the shaping of one even rarer.” _

_ He paused to lean across the table towards her, his gaze predatory as he rest his forearm on the wooden surface. Serendipity shrank away from him on instinct, trembling fingers tightening her shawl around her shoulders as if it might offer her shelter as he murmured, _

_ “There's a shred of you nestled in that heaving bosom that's still human. Yours to have and to hold, at least for a few more decades. Torture under Hell shapes efficient little broods of pitchfork waving peons, but you… Well, you'll be polished by your own violence…” _

_ The silence that descended between them was smothering, Serendipity staring at Crowley with absolute terror, his words cutting her to the core by their insinuations alone, even if their meaning wasn't entirely clear. He peered back at her calmly, an aura of patience around him that came from someone who had entire control over the situation they were in.  _

_ “I've afforded you a very charitable amount of time,” he continued in a smug murmur. “You have one hundred years. Well-” He paused and tugged on the chain of a pocket watch trailing along the front of his waistcoat, glancing at it for effect. “-Ninety eight now, give or take a few weeks. When your centennial anniversary comes up I'll come calling on you, but until then, you're free to do as you please.” Thumb and forefinger snapped the case of the watch shut and he looked back over at her, a glint of glee in his eyes.  _

_ “And when it has been a century..?” Serendipity whispered, each syllable shaking as she spoke. Dear God… a hundred years like this… A shred of her was subconsciously glad she didn't eat, for if she did she was sure she would pitch her stomach contents over the table.  _

_ “Well, then you'll choose,” Crowley replied as if it were obvious. “You will either embrace Hell and I'll collect the rest of your soul. Or, you can embrace Earth and stay up here, as you are, with the remainder of your spiritual innards in whatever state they might be by then. You're like a good quality Scotch, pet, you need time to mature. So, for now, I gift you with free reign to fornicate, feed and maim as you see fit. But never doubt; you do belong to me.” _

_ There was a low hum that rose in Serendipity’s ears as he spoke, the rushing of her own blood that grew louder and louder until it was deafening. She stared at her creator with hollow eyes, lips parted in an unbidden expression of horror as a tear slipped down her cheek before she was able to stop herself. Pale fingers curled against the tabletop, her nails digging into the wood as she whispered in a cracking voice, _

_ “Why..? Why did you do this to me?” _

_ “You're looking for some great plan, some higher meaning to all this?” Crowley uttered in his gruff drawl, amusement lining his face. “You'll be disappointed, pet. It was just right place, right time. When you've lived as long as I have, and you will, you'll learn there's nothing original in this world. Nothing new. When an opportunity comes to mix things up a bit, you don't pass it up. Besides; I thought you wanted justice? I seem to remember that being a rather specific part of our little covenant. What have you been doing with your time? Don't tell me you let that slide.” _

_ She tore her gaze a away from him at this, face turned towards the shadows as another glassy tear trailed down her cheek. Justice, as Crowley might have called it, had been served, but not by any real intention or design, nor had it offered any sort of peace.  _

_ Bertrand had been one of her first, in the weeks after her change. The memory haunted her with alarming clarity; half mad with starvation, she had no idea how she had suddenly found herself moving from the pavement outside to his bedroom, hovering silently at the foot of his bed to watch for a while as he slept. His wife, her former mistress, had been away in the country, visiting her sister and leaving him unguarded. Serendipity would never forget the way he had looked pinned beneath her, fear writ in his face, but something about her drugging him more potently than any opiate would, some sweet smelling magic or chemical she would learn as time went on came from the very pores of her skin, making him utterly malleable. What must he have been thinking, as the woman he'd ruined came to haunt him?  _

_ She would never know for certain, but as he'd died in her embrace, his life force spilling into her and renewing her strength to the point she had punched her fist clear through his sternum and held onto his heart to feel it's last beat, the look in his sunken eyes gave her a pretty clear indication; Hell was all that waited for him. _

_ It was as if Crowley could read her mind, for a surprisingly soft hand reached across the table to pat the back of her fingers as he chuckled, _

_ “That's my girl.” _

_ The contact snapped her out of the memory and she snatched her hand away, spitting in disgust,  _

_ “Don't touch me!” _

_ His response was to laugh and lean back into his chair, entirely relaxed as he ran his eyes over her. _

_ “We do have a short fuse, don't we?” he hummed and shook his head in a gesture of faux disapproval. “You'll want to learn to reign that in. With your talents one small tantrum could see you sucking in every member of the male species in this pub. Think Pied Piper of Hamlin but with more cleavage.” _

_ Serendipity threw him a glare, her top lip curled in a silent snarl and leaned close as she dared over the table as she hissed, _

_ “If you have made me so strong it is not mortal men that should be your concern, devil. I  _ will _ find a way to punish you for what you have done!” _

_ “You're coming along nicely,” was Crowley’s retort, the crossroads demon unfazed by her threat, instead giving her a smile that bordered on fond. “I've got high hopes for you.” _

_ “Then it shall be my pleasure to disappoint you!” she snapped and shot up from her seat, turning to stalk away, unable to tolerate a second longer in his presence. As she stormed towards the door on trembling legs she heard a cat call from him follow her; _

_ “You'll soon learn I am the only one you can trust, pet!” _

_ *   *   * _

Serendipity let out a low sigh, pausing to rise to her feet, her arms folded over her chest to hug herself as she began to pace in a slow circle around the tight space of the panic room. Castiel remained stoically silent as he watched her move, not wanting to interrupt her a second time if she had more to say. 

“The pitiful thing is, he was right…” the demon breathed as she made her loops around the makeshift cell, fingers tightening on her upper arms. “I learned the hard way that any sort of relationship, even passing acquaintances, are an impossible thing for me. It is far too dangerous to care for anyone. Crowley is far from a friend to me. I despise him. But he is the only one who I have never had to be afraid of. Until now…” She paused and her eyes trailed slowly to the tally she’d made once more, her small frame shivering as she stared at it. The angel tilt his head to peer at her, then followed her gaze, a sheen of realisation coming over him.

“Your century has ended…” he murmured, his smoky voice without judgement, the statement merely an observation. Serendipity glanced back at him over her shoulder, a small, empty smile on cupid bow lips as she gave a single nod.

“I have forty seven days remaining…” she whispered, turning her gaze back towards the marks she’d scratched into the wall. “I am looking for a miracle. I have begged God for redemption, tried starving myself, I have attempted death, I cannot find a way out… I am trapped in this body Crowley made until he sees fit. I won’t spend an eternity like this. But I am a coward as well… I don’t want to choose damnation in Hell with him…” She trailed off, throat closing as she spoke of her impending choice, her head swimming dizzily at the thought of it. Dropping to sit heavily back on the edge of the cot she dragged a hand down one cheek, hearing the angel beside her speak;

“The Winchesters will never allow that… I have witnessed what they are capable of. Your fear is understandable but unnecessary.”

She looked up at him with a breath of a laugh at this, one dark brow lifted slightly as she breathed,

“Is that your way of saying that everything will be alright, angel?”

Castiel nodded, his countenance entirely serious. The succubus studied his face for a long moment, seeming to be reading him, jewel-like eyes intent. Finally she echoed his nod and said softly,

“Thank you. I appreciate sentiment for something like me is probably not usually in your nature.”

“You are not a ‘thing’. You are a person,” he replied, voice firm as if arguing the point was out of the question. The things that had been done to this woman were abhorrent and it was clear that the loathing had turned inwards for her. He would not contribute to that. 

Her pale features woke with the ghost of a smile, though it vanished almost instantly as the sound of a door opening and boots traipsing across floorboards broke out above them. Both their heads tilt to look up at the ceiling as the hunters made their noisy return from their job, the cell quiet enough you could have heard a pin drop. Then Serendipity panicked. She leapt to her feet, taking hurried steps back away from the angel as she hissed in an urgent whisper,

“You can’t be in here! If they knew-”

Castiel’s face furrowed into a deep frown as he rose as well and raised one hand out towards her at a low angle, a wordless gesture to hush her. She fell obediently silent, her eyes darting upwards again as a pair of feet went directly over her head. The angel paced forwards to close the gap between them, seeing her flinch as she noticed how near he was, though she didn’t back away. Large turquoise eyes held his searing blue ones instead as he muttered low enough that she could only just hear,

“I must go. But I will return. Crowley will not be allowed to stake his claim on you, you have my word…”

“Why?” she whispered, staring up at him in disbelief as he spoke. “Why would you make a promise like that? What does it really matter? I am a demon, you’re  _ supposed _ to kill things like me…”

Castiel stiffened for a moment, struggling to find an answer himself, working more on instinct than anything else now. What Dean would call his ‘gut’. He swallowed, then bowed his head to lean slightly closer to her, wary of being heard, his voice a low rumble;

“Because… Because you do not deserve this…"

The demon’s lips parted slightly, his answer stunning her to silence. He gave her a slight nod, seeming to acknowledge that the conversation was in fact over given her lack of response, then turned away, Serendipity finding her voice at the last moment to whisper,

“Angel, wait… I… Do you have a name..?”

He turned back towards her, caught off guard by the question. Being thought of as an individual was still a relatively new experience and the importance of introducing himself properly occasionally slipped by him. 

“Castiel,” he murmured, the demon giving him a tentative little smile. 

“Hello, Castiel,” she breathed, her hands briefly rubbing her upper arms as if cold. “I’m Serendipity.”

“I know. The Winchesters told me,” he said in low tones and the woman’s smile grew.

“Oh,” was her soft reply, some vague hint of amusement in the single syllable.

“I will return, Serendipity. Perhaps not soon, but I will,” the angel murmured and she nodded, a white hand brushing her hair behind her ear.   
“I believe you,” she whispered and Castiel nodded as well, seemingly satisfied that he had reassured her enough, before he vanished from within the cell, the demon gazing at the empty space he left, her teeth grazing her lower lip in thought. He was by all rights her most natural enemy, she should be beyond terrified of him, and yet… No one had ever questioned whether she deserved her lot, not even herself. But the angel had...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested, for the sweet Annabelleleigh73 , a piccy of Cas and Dip:  
> http://trainscribbler.deviantart.com/art/Earthly-Temptations-520866641  
> I -STRONGLY- advise you not to poke around the rest of the gallery though, cause SPOILERS!


	6. Purify

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait guys, I hope it was worth it. Please comment/kudos if you enjoy and maybe I will post more art next time I update >.>

It was close to a week before the succubus had any contact with the angel again, trapped down in the dark hollow beneath Bobby’s house. There was very little sign of life at all, except for the sounds of feet overhead or muffled voices dampened by distance. A couple of times a day the slot in the door would slide back, different pairs of eyes peering in at her, presumably to check she was still holed up secure and alive. Once when the irises glancing in were an earthy, olive green they were accompanied by a voice, a low rumble that asked if she was holding up okay. The demon had nodded despite her flicker of surprise. She hadn't pegged Dean as being one for niceties. 

The one pair of striking blue portals that she really wanted to glimpse though had not materialised, leaving her alone to steadily cross the days away on her prison wall. The angel hadn't broken his word, it was true; there had been an explanation that it would be some time before he might come to her again. Battened down in the dark, though, hopelessness reared it's ugly head to cast its long shadow over her, the suffocating knowledge that her time was running out and every day that went by without intervention was one day closer to Crowley never too far from the forefront of her mind.

The evening that the door of the panic room finally opened she was sat on the floor with her back against the wall, knees drawn up to her chest, heel of her hand pressed between her eyebrows, the pressure relieving a cluster headache that had been dogging her the last couple of days. She slowly lifted her head, wincing as the light from beyond hit her vision, and after a few moments was able to pick out the shape of the older Winchester outlined in the doorway, his features set as he murmured, 

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”

“What's going on..?” the demon breathed, a fluttering of nerves in her chest, though she obediently got to her feet, palms flat against the wall behind to push herself up.

“Medical experiments,” Dean replied and for the first time she noticed the sawn-off hanging in his grasp, a silent reminder of who was in charge. “Sammy’s settin’ up shop upstairs. Come on.”

He squatted down, shaking a canister of spray paint in his other hand for a moment before he breezed a quick line of crimson aerosol across the outer ring of the trap on the floor, the demon immediately feeling the shift of pressure in the air as the magic was dispelled. When he stood up he set the can to one side on the nearest bench and looked back into the panic room expectantly, Serendipity gazing back at him with large eyes.

“Come on, Shortstack!” he said again, this time with an edge of impatience. The demon nodded and shuffled forwards, hesitating for a brief moment at the door before she finally stepped over the frame. Once outside the room she paused, looking up at the hunter to silently await her next instructions, the shotgun making her wary of doing anything without permission. After all, while it may not kill her, it would still sting like Hell…

“Up you go,” the Winchester murmured and gestured to the staircase with the barrel of the gun. The demon swallowed as she turned, senses on alert with her back to the weapon as she began to mount the steps, one hand on the rail for support as she heard Dean’s heavy footfalls follow her. When they reached the top he closed tight fingers around her upper arm to steer her through to the den where Sam and Bobby were waiting, a fresh trap carefully drawn on the floor in white chalk.

“No scuffin’ your feet…” Dean warned as he guided her forwards to the small circle. She stepped clear over the rim, a little shiver of adrenaline going through her as all eyes turned on her, anticipation of something lacing the air. Serendipity risked a quick look around as she was deposited in the centre of the seal, Dean stepping clear hurriedly once she was secure. At Sam’s hip there was a table loaded with various jars and brown paper packets, a brass bowl that contained something stinking but unseen from her spot nestled in the middle of it all. There was an aged looking book propped open as well, pages unreadable from her angle, the leather cover cracked and faded. 

As she stared the younger Winchester offered her an attempt at a small, polite smile, though all it did was contribute to the discomfort she was feeling. Dean shuffled about the room, setting his shotgun aside and moving to pick up a silver flask off the table, until finally the diminutive demon couldn't stand the tension anymore, her soft voice breaking the air;

“What are you going to do to me..?”

“You came to us lookin’ for a cure for demonism, we've had a go at jimmyin’ one up,” Bobby replied in his Southern rumble, arms folded across his chest, features erring on a scowl as he watched her. His expression said it all; he already thought this was a waste of time. 

Serendipity however felt her stomach roll at his words, a flood of nervous energy tipping her stomach. The hunters had actually come through… She gave the older man a quick, fractional nod, turquoise eyes huge in her snowy face as Sam chimed in;

“There wasn't anything we could find that fit the bill exactly, so we've tried to draft something up from a few different places; a Byzantine purification spell, Latin exorcisms, a few other things… It's a long shot, but well… we're pushed for time, right..?”

“Right…” she agreed in a whisper, her insides taking another lurch. “Thank you…”

“Don't thank us yet, Halfpint, this whole thing could be a bust,” Dean interjected as he turned to face her, hips leaned back against the table. “You realise you're asking for the moon here?”

“I know…” Serendipity murmured, quickly dropping her gaze to her feet, ebony waves concealing much of her features. “I… I do appreciate the position I am putting you in…”

“So long as you understand this isn't a cakewalk,” the elder of the brothers said firmly, Sam flashing him a quick, reproachful frown. 

“I do…” was the whispered reply from the demon.

“Alright… Well, let's take this thing for a spin,” Dean sighed and straightened up, looking back at his brother with an expression that silently said What? The younger hunter shook his head but made no more comment beyond that. Instead he turned to pick up the bowl and place it just inside the rim of the trap, saying as he did, 

“You're going to need to be close to this…” The demon peered down at its contents with a slight crease in her nose; bones, various plants so aged they were bleached and brittle looking, and a smatter of what looked suspiciously like blood were the most easily recognisable. 

“It looks delicious…” she murmured with a nervous little smile, then sank to her knees in front of it, fingers roped together in her lap. 

“It'll put hair on your chest,” Dean quipped in response. This earned him a disapproving tongue click from Bobby, the older hunter clearly not keen on the idea of playing the fool with a demon, even if it was to try and cut through some of the tension weighting the air. The succubus fell back into silence at the wordless reproach, rubbing one hand over her upper arm as she glanced up, seeing the three men with their backs towards the table, quietly discussing how their plan was going to unfold while she waited. Another shiver ran through her and she let her eyes slide around the room to look for some sort of distraction. They trailed over the stacks of books and papers, the oddly out of place mystic artifacts, worked their way along the mismatched furniture and freestanding piano that was being used as a dumping ground, until finally her gaze drifted to the corridor that led down to the kitchen, her heart skipping when she saw the angel stood there, silent and shadowed, keeping his distance from the rest of the pack. 

The demon offered him the hint of a smile and he nodded in return, his eyebrows drawn together as he gazed at her, clearly intent in thought as piercing blue eyes didn't so much as blink. Serendipity risked a quick look at the hunters, still preoccupied, then turned her attention back to him, her head tilted in a curious gesture, as if questioning why he hadn't come into the room as well, before her smile grew a fraction, something knowing in it. Perhaps he didn't in fact want the Winchesters to know he was there. She gave him a faint nod to show him she understood, then pulled her gaze away, teeth catching her lower lip in a subconscious, anxious graze. He'd kept his promise, at least. 

Eventually the hunters turned back towards her, all of them grim faced as Dean asked in a gruff murmur, 

“You ready to do this, Shortstack?”

There was a silent nod from the succubus on the floor and she rolled both sleeves of her flannel shirt up with a determined expression before she managed to say through the knot of anticipation sticking in her throat, 

“I'm ready…”

“Alright…” Dean uttered with an incline of his own head and picked up a wicked looking knife from the table in his free hand, the edge of the blade serrated, magical symbols inscribed into the metal, the tip a vicious point and looking perfect to slip between someone's ribs to scramble their innards. Serendipity peered at it quietly as he held it close to his side, realising they had no idea what the actual outcome of their spell would be and so were covering for all eventualities. This theory was backed up when Bobby helped himself to the shotgun the Winchester had abandoned, his eyes never leaving the small demon knelt in the trap as if staring down a predator. Not unreasonable, really…

“You're gonna need to do everything we say, okay..?” 

Sam’s gentle voice was the one that broke the quiet as he shifted to squat before the demon, a palm sized earthenware bowl that most definitely had more blood in it in his grasp. 

“I understand…” Serendipity whispered, turquoise eyes turning to his face as he gave her a kind smile. 

“Great. Hold still,” he replied and dipped the pad of his thumb into the bowl to coat it with the sticky crimson liquid. The demon flinched as he leaned in to begin daubing some symbol she couldn't see onto her chest, but otherwise remained still, wanting to cooperate as much as she could. 

When he was finished the hunter wiped his thumb down the leg of his jeans, then stood up straight to set the bowl back on the table. He picked up the book next, the demon's heart drumming in her chest as he scanned the necessary page one last time, then reached to pick up something small and pale from another bowl. When he turned to face her once more she saw it was a communion wafer, delicately perched between his fingers. Sam saw her staring at the disc and said in slightly stiff but understanding tones,

“I know you're pretty much… allergic to this stuff, but it's an important part of the ritual.”

“I know…” she breathed in reply, unable to stop the frightened quiver seeping into her words. She hadn't imagined this would be fun, but clearly she hadn't given enough imagination to how much it might hurt either. 

“You'll be okay,” Sam assured, resting the book on the inside of his forearm as a prop. He glanced over to his brother, giving him a nod, and Dean began to slowly move around the circle of the trap, throwing down droplets of holy water from the flask in his grasp onto the floor around her. Serendipity hissed in pain as the occasional bead landed on her pale skin, searing fleck marks into her. She made no move to pull away though; this was her one chance. 

When Dean had made a full circuit and come back to his brother's side he set the flask back amongst the other clutter table on the table and picked up a box of long matches, striking one along the grainy edge. All four pairs of eyes in the room turned to the flame, the clear catalyst of whatever was about to happen, a long moment of silence passing before the dropped it into the bowl before the demon. 

For a second nothing happened and Serendipity looked down at the brass vessel before her as if expecting the whole thing to be a dud. All of a sudden though there was an explosion of light, a searing flash that had the demon throwing her arms up to protect her face as the symbol Sam had painted on her chest instantly felt as if they were being branded into her skin, a shocked sound of pain leaving her throat. The hunters simultaneously took a step back at the burst of radiance, then Dean reached to smack the back of his hand against his brother's chest, a rough encouragement for him to continue with the spell. The younger Winchester nodded, swallowing and stepping forwards as he said as firmly as he could to the cowering succubus, 

“You have to breathe it in!”

Serendipity lowered her arm, peering over it, eyes transformed to two onyx wells in her heightened emotional state. She managed to snatch a look down at the bowl, seeing plumes of blue, heavily scented smoke pouring from it, the smell surprisingly sweet. Grappling with the agony tearing into her décolletage and deeper, she obediently shuffled to lean forwards, drawing a deep lungful of the vapours, her lungs screaming in response. She let out a raw cough, vaguely aware that Sam had begun to chant, the language something ancient and beyond her recognition, his voice occasionally stumbling over the complex syllables. 

The second breath of the smoke had her reeling, certain she could feel every capillary in her body boiling, whatever was being done by the spell being defied at a molecular level. This time she let out a low sob, unable to hold it in, and she felt a strong hand tuck under her chin, forcing her to look up. 

Dean was squatted at the side of the trap, holding her face, his face furrowed with actual concern as he muttered, 

“Oh crap… Sammy…”

Unbeknownst to the demon her bloodstream was indeed rebelling against whatever they were throwing at it, leaving narrow rivers of crimson seeping from her eyes and one of her nostrils, the blood stark against her porcelain skin. The demon swayed a fraction in Dean’s grasp, her head fogged by the pain, but managed to murmur, 

“Don't stop…” even as a fresh rivulet appeared running down her neck, dark hair concealing where it had trickled from her ear.

“Dean…” Sam breathed from behind, hazel eyes large as he watched the pair of them.

“You heard her. Keep goin’,” his brother replied gruffly, his jaw taut. He shifted to help the woman lean forward once more, tucking her hair back away over her shoulder so they could see her face as Sam hurriedly scrambled his way through the rest of the passage aloud. When he paused he held the communion wafer out, Dean taking it from his grasp and touching it to the demon's lower lip as he said in a low but very firm murmur, 

“Open up, Shortstack.”

It seemed as if it took a moment for the demon to register the instruction, a couple of droplets of blood falling from her eyes onto Dean’s thumb before she opened her mouth just enough to allow him to slip the host between her teeth. The hunter pressed his palm to the underside of her chin to close it again, hearing the ominous click of Bobby cocking the shotgun behind them as he murmured in the same stern gravel, 

“Don't swallow it. Sammy, the words!”

Sam stared in horror for a moment at the succubus before he registered his brother’s voice, quickly looking back down at the page in front of him and clearing his throat, before he managed to say noticeably hesitantly,

“God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, I appeal to Your holy name, humbly begging Your kindness, that You graciously grant me help against this and every unclean spirit now tormenting this creature of Yours; through Christ our Lord…”

“This ain’t gonna work, you’re not priests, you don’t even know what the Hell you’re doin’!” Bobby growled as he gradually raised the barrel of the gun, pointing it directly at the demon huddled on the floor, Dean shuffling back from her as she began to cough from behind closed lips, the communion wafer blistering her tongue and the roof of her mouth. She fought to keep it in though, her vision steadily shrinking to two narrow pinpricks as she heard Sam’s voice continuing, foggy and far away;

“God, Creator and defender of the human race, who made man in Your own image, look down in pity on this your servant, Serendipity, now in the toils of the unclean spirit… Keep watch over the inmost recesses of her heart, strengthen her will, cast from her soul the temptations of the adversary…”

As the hunter’s voice began to rise in volume the demon felt her muscles begin to seize and contract, spasming violently, her whole frame shuddering beyond her control, blinding pain crashing through her skull. Her fingers clawed against the floor as she tried to fight it and she could taste copper, the host in her mouth actually bubbling against her flesh as her body fought against it. Sam pressed on, the volume of his words rising as he tried to ignore the vision of her looking as if she were in mid-seizure, his grasp on the book firm enough his fingers were blanched;

“God, whose nature is ever merciful and forgiving, accept our prayer that this servant of Yours, bound by the fetters of sin, may be pardoned by Your loving kindness…”

Just as the demon felt as though the pressure in her skull would be enough to drop her into unconsciousness, she lurched suddenly, throwing herself forwards onto hands and knees as a she vomited a stream of blood, the wafer forcibly ejected amongst the near black expulsion. Dean stumbled backwards hurriedly to his feet with a shocked cry of,

“Holy crap!” 

“I told you!” Bobby snapped sharply and aimed the gun, the succubus unable to stop the violent heaving, all control lost, the blood she was bringing up spilling over the bowl and seeping across the floor in a dark pool.

“What do we do?” Sam gasped, ashen faced as he stared at the woman at their feet. Before he could answer though, there was a sudden rush of movement across the trap, a flash of tan trench coat announcing Castiel’s presence. In a matter of heartbeats he stooped to sweep a hand over the chalk lines of the devil trap, dusting a section away to break it’s hold, then heaved the demon up by the waist and vanished with her in a swirl of cool air that betrayed his wings, leaving the three hunters staring at the empty space he left behind, Dean the first to react as he yelled,

“Cas?!”

On the top floor of the house the angel heard the muffled call but ignored it as he sank to his knees on the bathroom floor, Serendipity cradled in the crook of his arm, still writhing from the botched spell.

“Just breathe,” he murmured firmly, snatching a hand out to grab a face cloth from the rim of the sink and use it to wipe away the symbols on her chest. As they were reduced to faint smudges he felt her go limp in his hold, the magic that had been tormenting her released. His eyes sloped to her face to see her own were closed, her skin bleached grey as her head lolled back against his bicep. For a moment the angel wondered if she was dead, until she let out a low moan and her lashes fluttered. He was surprised to feel a stirring of relief, the muscles in his jaw subconsciously relaxing as he brought the cloth to her face, beginning to very gently daub the scarlet streaks away from under her eyes as he breathed,

“You’re safe…”

There was another muted whimper from the succubus, then her eyes finally opened as she whispered in a cracked voice,

“Angel… Did it work..?”

His gaze flickered to meet hers, met with two jet portals looking up at him glazed with exhaustion, the expression in them pleading even though they were void of light. Castiel frowned and shook his head a fraction as he replied quietly,

“It did not.” He returned his attention to cleaning the blood off her face, adding as he dabbed at her cheek, “That was a very foolish thing to do, Serendipity. You could have been killed.”

The room was silent for a long moment, the angel assuming her failure to reply meant she didn’t like what he’d said, then he heard a soft hitch in the demon’s breathing. Piercing blue eyes went to hers once more to see a tear stained pale pink from where she’d been bleeding trailing down her face towards her temple, her gaze on the ceiling as the black film in her eyes dissolved, the misery in them clear as day when it did. Castiel blinked, unsure what to do, then draped the cloth over his thigh out of the way and reached to ghost the pad of his thumb over her skin, catching the tear and lifting it away.

“There will be another way…” he murmured, his deep voice genuine despite the audible discomfort in it. His palm moved to smooth her hair back away from her forehead as his brows drew closer together, the touches incredibly gentle as he continued to try and comfort her best as he knew how; “There is still time. This was just the first attempt… You should not lose hope.”

Another long, weighted moment of silence hung over them, until the demon finally spoke, her turquoise gaze trailing to meet his as she whispered,

“Castiel, I… I need to ask you for something…”

“What is it?” He replied, head cocked at a slight angle as he continued to run his palm over her hairline, hesitant to stop as it seemed to have had some effect in soothing her.

“If there isn’t another way… If I run out of time… Would you kill me? I… I meant what I said before, I can’t live like this anymore… But I can’t go with Crowley…” She said all of this very calmly, as though perhaps she had considered the request before now, but not had the chance to raise it. The angel frowned, his teeth grinding against one another as he considered what she was asking of him, Serendipity looking up at him with such forlorn, hopeless eyes that he found he couldn’t deny her, muttering in grim tones,

“If that is what you wish… Yes. I shall do as you ask if there is no other way…”

The succubus gave him a trembly little smile, then winced, her eyes sliding closed as she breathed,

“Everything hurts…”

“You have endured a great deal, it is hardly surprising,” Castiel replied with a small shake of his head, the gesture disapproving, his hand finally lifting from her hair to finish cleaning the blood stains off her face and lips. The fell into silence for a while after that, the angel focused on lifting the dark red from her porcelain features until she was finally clean. He ran his fingertips over her skin to check he had not missed any other marks or wounds, the contact so fleeting and light it could've been missed, then when he was satisfied murmured,

“I should return you to the basement.” There was a fractional nod of agreement from the demon in his hold and a brief lurch found them back in the panic room, Castiel leaning over to set her down on the cot that was tucked down there. Her small frame was still limp as he laid her on the canvas and took a moment to peer down at her curled up on her side as though unsure what to do with her, before he moved to pull the woolen blanket balled up at one end over her pale form. As he smoothed it down with careful fingers he briefly glanced up towards the ceiling, able to hear the stressed hunters still talking in raised voices over the failed cure. He would certainly have some explaining to do about why he had vanished with the demon…

A slight tugging on his sleeve pulled his attention back into the room. The angel dropped his gaze back to the woman on the makeshift bed to see her white fingers closed around a ripple in the fabric of his coat, her face marked with deep shadows after her ordeal as she whispered,

“Stay, angel… Please? Just… Just for a minute…” 

Castiel gazed down at her, not sure what to make of the request, but slowly sank to sit on the very edge of the cot as he said quietly,

“Of course…” 

“Thank you…” the demon breathed in reply, fingers still holding onto his sleeve tight as her eyes closed. Castiel watched her, his gaze diligent to make sure her chest still rose and fell regularly, then after a few moments reached out and carefully began to trace his hand over her hair again as he murmured,

“Rest, Serendipity. There will be another way. I will not allow any harm to come to you…”

“I believe you…” came Serendipity’s almost inaudible response, fingers loosening their grip on his sleeve to slowly trail down his arm before they landed on his hand. The angel stared down at her lily white hand on his, able to feel faint trembles still going through her, at a loss as to what to do with it. The demon though didn’t seem fazed and in the end he found himself carefully moving his thumb over the back of her fingers, holding them gently as he let his gaze return to her face, realising she had slipped into unconsciousness as he ran his palm over her jet hair. He could have let her die in the trap, he knew. She certainly would have been prepared to, on the faintest slither of hope that she might have indeed been cured. But he’d been unable to allow it to happen, the sight of her suffering jarring something deep within him. He had no true understanding of why he’d intervened, only knew that he’d had to, and that he would do so again without hesitation if required. 

The request for death though, that concerned him. He had already attempted to kill her once and failed. Now that he was beginning to understand her, he couldn’t help but question whether or not he’d be capable of following through…

The angel sighed, his palm gradually slowing in it’s tracks across her hair as he looked down at the sleeping demon. She was becoming an issue for him, that much was clear. A huge grey area that he had no idea how to navigate, and despite Dean’s attempts to inaugurate him into the human way of thinking, not enough ‘gut’ to either. All he knew is that after the debacle he’d witnessed tonight, he couldn’t trust the Winchesters to handle the situation alone. As well intentioned as they were, they had almost torn her to pieces…

Castiel frowned and turned his gaze back down to the pale fingers in his hold. He’d given his word. He was in over his head, that much was clear, but he’d promised this woman he would help her. He had no idea how, no more knowledge on a cure than the hunters did, nothing that made him qualified at all for the task. But if she was afraid and wanted him to sit with her in the dark, he would do that. And if that in the end was all he could actually offer her, at least it was something.


End file.
